Sunday,
February 1, 2004
Am I a glutton for punishment or what?
Spent
the day working on the contract project, so what did I do this evening? Relax
with a nice book and some music? Work on the short story some more? Pull out
one of my many and varied crafts projects and sink a few more stitches?
Nooooo. I cleaned the refrigerator. Satan's handing out ice skates right about now.
Well, it was necessary -- I had two separate civilizations developing in the crisper compartments, and they were lobbying for U.N. representation. The last thing I need is to have UN weapons inspectors poking around my refrigerator looking for WMD.
So I pulled everything out, washed down all the glass and detatchable plastic shelves, scrubbed out the interior with bleach (how something golden and extremely sticky got all the way to the bottom shelf I'll never know, but shifting it was a bitch), put everything back and threw out anything that was 1) out of date, 2) unlikely to be eaten in the next couple of weeks, or 3) had asumed the odors inherent in the fridge and was now unpalatable.
Sweating but proud
of myself, I was just loading the dishwasher when Lyndon came up from the garage
where he'd been working on the Jeep. I informed him of what I'd done, and he
threw open the door, stared at the gleaming interior and moaned, "But.
. .but. . .it's so empty! Some of those things were my friends, Mel!
I used to talk to them when you weren't here!"
Uh-huh. He definitely needs something that gets him out of the house on a regular basis.
And yes, I know
the Super Bowl is on today. When it has real teams again (who in Cthulhu's name
are the Carolina Panthers?), I'll watch.